We Might Not Make It Home Tonight
by tonguetiedandterrified
Summary: Because he would never overcome if she wasn't there.


**Author's Note: **A oneshot inspired by the song _Get Up _by _Barcelona. _

Read and Review.

**ooooo**

Five days.

Five agonising days filled with bloodshed, the pale August moon a witness to every heinous crime, every life taken away and the failure of Dark to consume Light.

Light had overcome Dark.

For five days, everything was in black and white: good or bad, do or die, kill or be killed. Black and red had collided and everything was tumultuous: shouts and screams combining into a shrill cacophony blending with the dancing jets and sparks of different coloured lights flashing from hundreds of wands. These lights had taken and saved lives, a double-edged sword in times of war.

Everything and everyone ran on autopilot, doing their best to stay alive, fighting for their cause.

Everything was in ruins. Trees which seemingly reached the clouds were still ablaze, the brilliant hues from the flames colouring the sky blood red. The ashes rained down like black snow on the grounds, turning the lush green grass grey. Bodies were strewn everywhere: some still breathing, some waiting for Death to arrive and some had glazed and blank eyes, the life evaporated and taken away from them.

Amidst the swirl of silent chaos, someone stood up. The first warrior to stand. His hair was caked with ash and stained with blood. His face was ashen and his black clothes were tattered. He looked as good as dead. But he was _alive_.

Everything was a blur of black and red and grey to him. The motion sickness passed and he forced his eyes to focus. In front of him was a weathered door, the only door left intact. Behind that door was where she was. He looked at the castle and observed its façade. The walls were crumbling, the west wing completely obliterated. Gargoyles were destroyed and roofs were wrecked. Doors were blasted of their hinges. He could see orbs of red and orange and yellow licking at the drapes, devouring the once elegant cascades of velvet and silk. It was the safest place he had known. A sanctuary to all.

_I thought it would be safest._

An upsetting feeling enraptured him, his head suddenly feeling dizzy. No, no, no, _no._

But that feeling was still there, branded in his heart and imprinted on his mind. A fear he had not wanted to remember.

_We might not make it home tonight._

He opened the door and looked around. It all looked horrible. He wanted to bolt away, as far as he was capable of and never look back again. But he had to stay. For her.

He weaved his way, passing by the bodies strewn in the corridors, their clothes burned, singed and tattered. The smell of scorched human skin hung heavily in the air, burning his nostrils. Some asked for his help as he passed, pulling at the hem of his trousers, trying to cling to his leg. But he neither heard nor obliged to the requests bemoaned by them.

He was looking for her.

And there she was.

Hermione was crawling on the ash, her clothes faded to black, skin covered in soot and grime. Her hair was unruly and the ends were singed. She looked so pitiful. Draco ran to her. He dropped down on his knees, slowly and heartbreakingly softly lifted her up and put her on his lap, mindful of her injuries.

"Hermione," he whispered, brushing the hair delicately away from her face. She reached up and took his hand in hers, trying so hard to focus her eyes on his face, see his face, just _see_. Everything was dimming around the edges and the world seemed darker than it already was. She was slipping away. She held his hand tightly, fighting her inner battle with Death. She had to hold his hand to remember to breathe.

Draco swallowed hard. No.

"Hermione, don't. Please, I need you. Don't do this to me." He watched her eyes fill with tears, the harsh truth presenting itself to them. They were lost, cold and exposed to its foreignness. They were like two kids without their jackets, bare and naked to the unknown.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said so brokenly.

"I—I won't overcome, love," he said dejectedly, still looking into her half-alive eyes. No, he wouldn't overcome.

_I thought we'd overcome._

"For me, Draco. Live on for me," she said, her eyes slowly starting to close. Draco brought her to his chest, clutching her tightly.

_She's lost her sense of light._

"I love you, Draco," she whispered. He felt her draw one last shuddering breath and her body went limp against his. He had felt the life leave her and it left him empty. Sobs wracked his body. He was still hugging Hermione's dead body, cradling her head close to his heart. His fear had come alive. There was no use getting angry. There was no point loathing her now.

_My fear would come alive, I wouldn't loathe her now._

She won't make it home tonight.


End file.
